


A Hand To Hold

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request: "just hold my hand for a bit" angst fluff with Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 65





	A Hand To Hold

Geralt didn’t do well with inaction.

When there was a problem, he handled it. That was his job and that’s what he was trained to do. He could kill any monster and slay any demon but what good were any of these now? He couldn’t take the pain from you and he could not kill death itself. All he could do was listen as you cried and stand guard as you said your final farewells to your mentor. There wasn’t even any way to avenge the death. The woman was old, far older than most lived to, and the death was a natural and fairly peaceful one. But the fallout and the heartache were chaotic and hard and Geralt was not made for times like these. He wished fruitlessly that Jaskier was there or even Yennefer, both better with issues of the heart than he was. But you were stuck him alone and he felt so desperately useless.

For the most part he stayed out of your way. He brought meals to your door but when he walked by again later they’d still be there. His meals grew increasingly bizarre, trying to find a combination of favorite foods you would enjoy until he looked down at the tray holding nothing but cheeses and chocolates and realized he needed a new tactic. And for once, his skills could prove useful.

He waited in hiding, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t stalking and even if it was it was for your own good. He waited until the door cracked open, well after midnight, and you quietly padded across the stone floors out into the courtyard where he’d noticed you liked to sit some nights. You and your mentor used to look at the night sky as she told you their secrets and helped you weave stories and lessons from the constellations. You stared up at them now and you tried to find anything that would help you understand why this had happened and how to move on.

He stole up to the bench quietly but intentionally crunched some leaves beneath his feet so he wouldn’t startle you. The moonlight bathed your tearstained face and the sight wrenched his heart. He silently held out a piece of bread and you looked up at him and simply held his gaze for a long moment before taking it from his hand. He sat beside you and you chewed at it though you found it tasteless. It seemed like every joyful experience in your life was gone. Colors were muted and everything tasted bland. The world washed grey in your grief. When you finished the bread Geralt handed you the wineskin and you drank because you knew you should but only enough to wet your throat.

“What do you think happens when we die?” you asked, the words breaking the silence. Geralt wished Triss were here, or someone else who may have a lovely lie to offer. You looked at him and he shrugged.

“Nothing,” he answered simply. You nodded and then looked back up to the sky.

“But I am not a scholar,” he continued, fearful that he’d hurt you. The gnawing, useless feeling deepened.

“No I appreciate that, actually,” you said, “I like that I know you’ll never tell me something just because it’s what you think I want to hear.”

“Are there any other comforting platitudes you’d like me to shatter for you?” he offered, half-joking and half desperately looking for something to do. A whisper of a smile came over your face and just as quickly faded away as you shook your head sadly. Your eyes were glossy with tears again when you looked at him and he would rather have endured any physical pain he’d experienced before a thousand times over than to see that deep ache in your eyes.

“Just… hold my hand for a bit?” you asked. He moved to do it and then pulled back. You looked away, dejected and sad, but then you heard shuffling and a hand tentatively brushed against yours. You looked over and saw he’d taken off the glove so he could take your hand in his without any barriers and this time you did smile. His large, calloused hand engulfed yours and threaded your fingers through his, determined to cover every inch of skin he could, to hold your hand to the utmost of his ability. You sighed and leaned against him, resting your head against his shoulder and the pair of you looked out into the night sky, hand in hand, slowly beginning the long journey toward healing together.


End file.
